In Defence of Pickup Artists

PUA.jpg

Ever since the publication of “The Game” by Niall Strauss in 2005, the term “pickup” has become a dirty word. I don’t blame society for associating the term with a skeevy underbelly of humanity. What else were they supposed to make of the weirdos who purposefully dressed in silly clothing and went out trying to fuck anything with a hole between their legs by saying mean things to them?

This crass imagery has persisted for the last decade, and it’s unlikely to leave us any time soon. But, if for nothing more than wanting to play devil’s advocate and for the benefit of my limited audience, I’d like to come to the pickup community’s defence. I, among possibly millions of others, was also introduced to the idea of being able to approach women anywhere because of that book.

Continue reading “In Defence of Pickup Artists”

Advertisements

A Tale of Two Moroccos – or the night I was afraid of getting roofied in the desert

end-of-night-morocco

For the last few weeks, as an attempt to distract myself from the impending Sword of Damocles that was the high likelihood of having to go back to Mexico, I’ve been travelling in Morocco. I flew into Marrakesh, and I must say that I initially had a very bad impression of Moroccans as a whole. I almost got scammed multiple times on my first day, and you get hassled in this city like nowhere I’ve seen in my life. Everyone here has a story of someone annoying them on the streets, or being massively overcharged; some stories even include the threat of violence and thuggery and I’ve even heard of someone getting spat on by a stranger.

After experiencing this sort of doings I was ready to write an article on the subject. About how in some places you’re little more than a walking dollar sign, instead of a human being. But then I ventured out of Marrakesh and I saw the true generous potential of the Moroccan people. By way of example, whilst travelling with my two friends which I’ve mentioned earlier, we asked a man for directions to a hotel or something of the sort to stay the night, as it was getting late.

Continue reading “A Tale of Two Moroccos – or the night I was afraid of getting roofied in the desert”

Meditations on Toubkal Mountain, the highest point in North Africa

2016-12-09-13-10-09

Much remains the same when you grow up, many of the childlike dreams, hopes and aspirations still hold true. Perhaps we may coat them with a veneer of respectability or adulthood, but at their core, they still remain much the same. The main thing that changes though is how we seek to satisfy those drives.

Had you talked to my thirteen year old self and told him that one day, a decade later, I would decide to climb during the winter the highest mountain of North Africa on a whim, I would’ve likely called you mad. I still remember when, on a nature walk that we did on a school trip, my teacher essentially had to push my back then morbidly obese self the whole way. As otherwise, I would’ve never managed to do so.

Continue reading “Meditations on Toubkal Mountain, the highest point in North Africa”

It ain’t all Sunshine and Rainbows

laughs-in-illegal

I think I’m done. At this point I have sent well over 750 job applications, hoping beyond hope that something would work. This is not exaggeration or allegory, I have genuinely sent almost a thousand applications over the last two months. Reason being that I do not want to go back to Mexico.

It’s not that I hate everything associated with it, just that I never felt at home there. The urgency and avoidance of it might make me melodramatic whenever I talk about life there. Its values and concerns always felt alien to me, so I always felt like the odd one out. I’ve made a true human connection over the last few years living in Europe. I’ve felt free to live life, explore sides of myself I didn’t know existed, and for the first time, I truly think that I’ve found who I am meant to be as a person. I can honestly say that for the last few years I’ve been of the happiest men alive.

Furthermore, I’ve always had the philosophy that if you’re persistent enough, you get what you want. That said, there are also natural limits to one’s actions – I can’t jump to the moon, no matter how hard I try. This immutable fact will not change, even if I dedicate the next lifetime to mastering my jumping technique.

Continue reading “It ain’t all Sunshine and Rainbows”

Why I approach Women on the Street

day-game-0

To question one’s purpose in life is about as normal of a human activity as one could possibly do. Recently, I had a long and very frank discussion with a girl about how one ought not to rush love and how the right partner will find you. She viewed it as unnatural and unhealthy to expend so much mental energy on women and approaching them. I naturally scoffed, tell that to my 19 year old kissless, hugless and virgin self, I thought to myself. Had I kept doing the exact same thing that I had been doing, I would’ve likely died alone, and very  frustrated.

In the words of Woody Allen “eighty percent of success is just showing up” – for years I’d failed to turn up and then one December I decided to show up. Life took a turn for the better after some initial road-bumps. I cannot say with certainty where I would’ve ended up had I not met people who helped me change lanes, but I’m sure that I wouldn’t have gone down a positive road.

Continue reading “Why I approach Women on the Street”

Bittersweet Endings and New Beginnings

2016-05-29 16.37.50.jpg

After finishing university the other day, I can now pompously call myself an economist. Nowadays, when I go to a social gathering, I will almost be able to hear sphincters nervously clench when asked what I studied, and they hear what I have to say on the matter. I will now see the terror in their hearts when I answer that I profess the trade of Adam Smith, as they hope to god almighty that I don’t talk about inflation or currency exchange rates, or how the Brexit is a stupid idea.

I didn’t get to wear a silly Harry Potter gown, or attend graduation, because I put my degree to good use and calculated that the value (gotten out of essentially paying £80 for a handshake, a boring speech I wouldn’t remember, and a hastily taken photograph) was simply not worth it. Instead, I’ve been travelling with my father and yesterday I showed him Canterbury, the city where I’ve been living in for the last three years.

I showed him the fields where I walked with a lovely girl with whom I was with for a while; I showed him the discount supermarket I used to greedily shop at once a week; I showed him the pigsty that we used to call our student flat; I showed him the campus and all its labyrinthine quirks; I showed him where I took my first salsa classes;  and I showed him a coffee shop where I must’ve had well over a dozen dates – I showed him home.

If there’s anywhere that I’ve lived in that I could’ve called “home”, with all the pageantry and positive feelings that are bundled with the word, it was there. Frankly, I did not have a happy upbringing, and it took to well into my adulthood to find the peace and happiness that people seem to ooze from every pore. Nowadays, I know that is mostly an act – a lie they eagerly fan on their social media accounts to promote the cult of themselves. Yet, I was joyless for most of my existence, doubly so when I suspected everyone else was happy except myself. If home is where the heart is, I was homeless for most of my life.

Continue reading “Bittersweet Endings and New Beginnings”

Hostel Fondle – or why all miseries shall soon pass

2016-07-01 12.20.34

I’m writing this article on my phone from my hostel bed late at night, because this is how I deal with stuff – I write. I’m currently in Split, Croatia. Wishing that the infernal creaking of the bed springs next to me would stop.

In the bed adjacent to me there’s a pair of irrefutably drunk tourists having sex. Paying no mind to any passing soul that comes by. A part of me feels angry, disgruntled that they don’t have the decency to go to a romantic toilet stall, just like any other proper fellow might have done (Truth be told, I have never understood bathroom pulls either, smelly and disgusting is not on my sexual bucket list). But if I am quite frank, what I think most people would not admit to, but I will, is that I cannot help but feel jealousy just as well.

Continue reading “Hostel Fondle – or why all miseries shall soon pass”